Tethered
by DarkJackal
Summary: Gisborne/Sheriff.  As Guy is awaiting his sentence in the dungeon, he remembers a time when he was trapped in a very different way.  Explores the mental and physical conditioning which Gisborne was subjected to by the Sheriff.


"_From early on, Guy had been raised to accept the harshness of the Sheriff's rule. Vaisey kept him as insulated as possible, playing up the fact that Guy had nothing if not for his benevolence. It was not incredibly dissimilar to the way a juvenile hawk was tethered, and kept hooded, so as to know only the sound and caress of its master. The hawk had no love for the master, and neither did Guy for the Sheriff." -In the Devil's Thrall, Chapter V_

Ever since writing this paragraph, I've been asking myself just how this might have played out if taken literally. This vignette is what I came up with. Set during S3x09, with flashbacks to before season one. Explores the mental and physical conditioning which Gisborne was subjected to by the Sheriff.

_As Guy is awaiting his sentence in the dungeon, he remembers a time when he was trapped in a very different way. _

Tethered

The light was a diffused grey in the depths of the stone prison. The air was chill, yet stifling with the stench of past inhabitants. There was nothing to do. Nothing to hear, except the sound of guards murmuring, and the moans of less privileged victims. Nothing to feel but the dull ache from where the shackles had bitten into his wrists. Nothing to care about, except the manner in which he would die. And nothing to think about, aside from that which he found it hard to block out. But he did not want to think of _her_ here. Did not want her memory mixed with this squalor. If he saw the light again, he would think of her then.

Instead, he thought of _him_. Memories of the man he had known for many years were well-suited to this place. And they were best reserved for times like these, when he could sink no lower into despair and humility. He might as well consider them now, for there was no point in hiding his feelings from himself any longer.

Closing his eyes, the darkness became complete. He returned to days when he felt hope and fear more strongly, and when the acceptance of one man meant everything.

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Guy waited. In the dark, bound and blindfolded, he waited. He did not protest. It would achieve nothing, except to show weakness. He did not know what sensation would await him each time. It could be soft as a feather, or sharp as a thorn. It was never so bad that he could not handle it. And it left no mark that could not be hidden. Occasionally, there would be blood, but no more than a trickle. What he could not be certain of, was what choice he would make when the question was posed to him. He was never sure what the right answer was, the answer that _he_ expected him to make.

When he first came to be the Sheriff's man, he anticipated the job to be a challenge. Vaisey was known to be a brutal officer of the crown, and Guy had not stepped lightly into his service. He had no illusions that the Sheriff was a decent man. A powerful man, yes. And that was all Guy needed at this point. He sought access to that power, and he would do whatever it took to share in it.

But in no way had he expected to be challenged like this. The first time he was subjected to this...attention, he thought it must be for having made some slight against his master. Summoned to the Sheriff's private quarters, he was ordered to sit in a chair. He complied. Obedience was his currency, and he was not going to short change his lord at this time. But when the Sheriff tied a cloth around his eyes, he suddenly wondered if he was to be executed. It took all of his will to remain silent. He did not trust Vaisey, but neither could he see how his own death would benefit the man, so he waited.

The moments dragged out. His hands had been gripped firmly, and bound behind him with rope. He anticipated pain to come at any moment, and tried to be brave. But if there was a crime he had committed, he was not informed of it. He felt a hand gently hold his wrist, then a sharp pain scratched open his palm. But the punishment, if that was what it was, was nothing worse than that small cut. The blood was dabbed away, and Vaisey had asked him for the first time, "Should I continue?" Of course, he had found voice enough to say no. God knew how much worse it would get if he said yes. He was surprised to find the Sheriff respected his choice, and gave him leave to go.

As he went about his normal duties, he wondered what it all meant. If his courage were greater, he would have questioned his lord, but he felt lucky to have escaped worse. The Sheriff inflicted ghastly torture on his enemies—as well as on people who hardly deserved it—so he let it go. But weeks later, when he was requested to come to the Sheriff's chamber again, he began to see the nature of the beast. As the sessions progressed, the torments would vary. Each time he was expected to allow something to be done to him without complaint. During one session, his hair had been grabbed in a fist, and his head pulled roughly back. He waited for a knife to cut his throat, but the slash never came. Once, the Sheriff simply rested a hand on the back of his neck for several minutes. It was the first time pain had not been involved, but he found it equally disturbing. Another time, Guy felt a steady, sharp pressure in his side, which made him wince. He tried hard not to betray his discomfort, and the Sheriff did not appear to be intent on forcing him to do so, content with what he witnessed. Guy could only guess what kind of thoughts went through his mind, but it was not his main concern. His duty was to please his lord in whatever way he demanded. It was the only way he would ever get access to what he wanted.

The Sheriff never entirely removed control from him, always allowing him a choice, of sorts. If Guy told him to stop, he would. He would then be left alone for hours, without sight, in the quiet of the empty chamber, until the question was again asked of him. But it was not true torture. He was never kept past a reasonable point. He knew he would be allowed to leave, after the ordeal was over. But sometimes, the ordeal was not so bad.

Occasionally, the pain and anxiety were mostly absent, and he felt something else, as when the Sheriff ran a hand through his hair, until his senses were tingling. Or when the man's fingers traced delicate patterns across Guy's back through the leather of his tunic. But despite these interludes, Vaisey had not lost his love of harsh contact, as Guy rediscovered during the last session, when his wrist had been wrenched back, until tears formed in the corners of his eyes. The blindfold had hidden this from the Sheriff's view.

But his curiosity increased with each session, and as time went by, he became more reluctant to say no to the Sheriff's only question. What would happen if he said yes? Perhaps Vaisey would finally stop. Or maybe not. He knew on some level that his mind was being molded to suit his master's desire, but he did not know how to stop it. If it was a test, he felt he was failing it repeatedly.

And after a certain point, he could no longer resist the temptation to force some change to occur. His answer had been met with a laugh. "Are you sure?" the question was purred wickedly, just inches from his ear.

"Yes," he had replied, without betraying any of the nervousness he really felt. It was a risk, but he was becoming weary of the long interludes. For better or worse, he needed some kind of resolution to this purgatory. If an affirmative answer could fortify his position with Vaisey, he would attempt to withstand the consequences of his decision.

Perhaps in reward, his hands had been untied. He found he did not know what to do with them. Guy was self conscious of his freedom, realizing the burden was greater without the bonds. It implied that he wanted whatever Vaisey was going to do, and maybe...distressingly...he found that he did. Thankfully, the Sheriff left the blindfold in place. He needed that distance from stark reality, however small.

Although freed to fight if necessary, he was immobilized by expectation, and the custom they had already established. He felt warm hands on the sides of his neck, and he allowed his head to be tilted to the side. His own hands rested on his thighs, and he tried not to move them. He assumed the rules still applied. No reaction. The Sheriff's hand retreated from his neck, and he breathed shallowly, head still at an awkward angle. Then the hand slipped over his throat, and into his tunic, brushing across his chest. It lingered over his heart. He kept his breathing even, but he could do little about his pulse, and knew the Sheriff could feel the quickening beat. Breath blew across his cheek. He felt paralyzed. Then his heart lurched as a slick tongue scudded along his lips, and he felt its warm, wet pressure at the corner of his mouth, seeking entrance. It was suddenly all too real. He jerked his head away, feeling nails rake his flesh under the leather, and Vaisey retreated from him without a word.

He knew he had committed a grave offense, but the movement had been involuntary. It was contradictory, but he could tolerate these actions as long as they were seemingly against his will. He was not sure what he wanted anymore, but he was almost certain it had never been this. The chamber door slammed closed, and he was left alone for longer than he had ever been before. It was ridiculous, because he could just walk away this time, but he knew that would not be tolerated. If he valued the Sheriff's favor, he would have to wait until he was released.

The sessions had stopped after that. Perhaps that was his punishment. Vaisey's attitude had changed toward him from then on, becoming more abrasive, and ever more condescending. He had not been demoted from his position in the Sheriff's guard, but it had taken longer than it should have to achieve the highest rank. The Sheriff had given the title of master-at-arms to another man, one who had done little to prove himself. It was an obvious slight, but it was not to last long. The man's blood had christened Guy in his new title, and Vaisey was again pleased with him.

The Sheriff's favor waxed and waned over the years, and rarely, Vaisey's anger would manifest in punishments which put those early sessions to shame. But Lady Marian had begun to consume Guy's mind, and as long as the Sheriff did not stand in his way, he could put up with the occasional indignities. Every once in a while, Vaisey would again bestow upon him a gentle touch, but it was always in a mocking way, scorning him for the choice he had made.

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The scrape of an iron shackle against a raw place on his wrist brought Guy back to the present. His eyes opened. The guttering torches projected fitful shadows on the rough-cut stone, and he imagined he saw their final fight reenacted. He had beaten his mentor—his tormentor—all one and the same. He wondered if their fates would have been different, had he let the old game play out. Let the Sheriff subject him to ever deeper intimacy. And what the Sheriff would never know—because Guy had killed him with his own hands—was that, in his darkest moments, he had longed for the chance to find out.

~ Fin ~


End file.
